Old Wives' Tales
by Frodo Baggins of Bag End
Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister. No profanity. No sex. Nonslash.
1. Picnic Season in Hobbiton

Title: Old Wives' Tales 

Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd) 

Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Dora, various other hobbits (including 

Fredegar, Estella, and some original characters) 

Rating: PG (IMPORTANT: Future chapters of this story will be rated PG-13, possibly R. I have struggled with this matter for several days, and after some beta-readings by members of FrodoHealers, have decided to proceed as planned, though with this disclaimer. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading beyond Chapter One of this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. My feeling is that there are a variety of conditions and treatments which can be employed in writing ailing Frodo fanfic, and by signing onto such a group, one accepts that there may be conditions used that present very dark or very painful situations. However, for this story of my own, I would like to take all possible precautions to avoid offending anyone's sensitivities, and as such am disclaiming now. Thank you. :) ) Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister. 

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming. 

Story Notes: I have taken some liberty with ages - while I don't usually like to do so, I wanted to harness Estella's lack of culinary prowess, legendary on ElendorMUSH, but needed to make her a bit older to do so, given that she would be merely a toddler at this time in Frodo's life according to book canon! In keeping with this, I have also altered Merry and Fredegar ("Fatty") to fall closer to Frodo's own age. . .which, at the time of this fic, is all of seventeen years, though for a hobbit seventeen is more like nine to eleven years in human terms. 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. This is a non-slash fiction: no slash or sexual connotations are implied or intended. 

OLD WIVES' TALES 

Chapter One: Picnic-Season in Hobbiton 

"Frodo! Over here!" 

"Half a moment!" Laughing, Frodo returned his attention to filling his plate, waving to Fredegar and Estella, who were already seated on a large quilt nearby. Behind him, Bilbo smiled, nodding approvingly as the young hobbit added various items from the ample picnic-spread. 

"I'm sure you're glad to see your friends again for a bit, eh, lad?" 

"Mmm-hm," Frodo nodded emphatically. "It was awfully kind of Aunt Rosamunda to bring them down on the way. . .I'm glad we've so many relatives, at times like these, really." Rosamunda had agreed to stop in Hobbiton to stay with a cousin for a few days on her way down from Budge Ford to Michel Delving, a good deal of travelling for hobbits, to allow Frodo and Fredegar to slip in a bit of extra time together. With Frodo spending the summer at Bilbo's in Hobbiton, the two were much farther apart in location, and the trip to Hobbiton was so much farther than the jaunt to Brandy Hall in Bucklebury that Rosamunda had at first said they would likely not get to see each other that summer at all. Yet she had relented at last, agreeing to make the family trip to Michel Delving for tailoring and fittings a month early so that the lads might not be apart so long. Today was the last day of their visit, though, and Bilbo and Rosamunda had arranged an enormous picnic for the occasion. 

"Be sure and fill that plate. . .then clean it! I'd like to see you less easy to pick up before you return to the Hall. . . ." 

"Yes, Uncle Bilbo." Dutifully Frodo continued adding to his plate as Bilbo passed him, patting him on the shoulder before going to take a seat with the other adults. At least Bilbo had been too kind to point out that Fredegar, a year Frodo's junior, was at least twice the orphan's match in girth, as was his sister Estella, a year younger than "Fatty." Frodo was acutely aware of his thinness, of the whispers about it, but since his parents' drownings six years earlier he'd sometimes found it difficult to eat, and he'd been ill so often that keeping on weight was a challenge. The two stone he'd managed to gain early on he'd lost during a bout of measles complicated by pneumonia. . .another stone he'd regained later dropped, taking three more with it, during a particularly bad winter when he'd had constant colds and coughs, his throat often too sore to swallow more than a mouthful of anything. And then there was the simple fact that in a family smial with more than two dozen children, no one's favourites could be served constantly. . .and Frodo's tastes often ran counter to what was being served. His aunts and uncles had tried repeatedly to induce him to eat, but bribes, cajoling, wheedling, admonitions, and threats had all failed. At Bilbo's, though, he always seemed able to pick up a little weight. . .perhaps because Bilbo was awfully nice about making his favourite foods, mused Frodo, and because at Bag End his stomach never seemed to tense into the tight knots that it often did at Brandy Hall. 

And today was no exception. . .Rosamunda had clearly spoken with Bilbo concerning the menu. Everything looked delicious. . .cherry pie, fresh corn on the cob, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, cold salad, green beans, fried green tomatoes, buttered rolls, sweet peas with mint, blueberry cobbler, raspberry tarts, watermelon, assorted sandwiches - bacon, mushroom, ham, tomato and cucumber, watercress. . . . Filling his plate thoroughly, Frodo at last joined Fatty, Estella, and their cousins Caramippa and Basil on the blanket. The mood had, however, already changed, and Estella was sniffling piteously, Basil rolling his eyes while Fredegar glowered and Caramippa smirked. 

"Y-You j-just d-don't know g-good c-cooking wh-when you s-see it!" Estella wailed, beginning to cry outright as Frodo settled both plate and self on the blanket. "You've n-not even t-TRIED!" 

"And I'm not going to, either!" retorted Caramippa. "* I * wouldn't put something like that in my dog's bowl, much less bring it to a special picnic!" 

"You're only s-saying th-that b-because you're JEALOUS!" sniffled Estella indignantly. 

"Of * that *?!?" Caramippa gestured back toward the picnic-tables. . .to a large serving-dish of mushrooms in cream. Frodo had somehow missed it. . .it sat at the end of the table quite all alone. 

"What's the matter?" offered the young Baggins cautiously. 

"Estella's cream mushrooms. . .she's upset because no-one's eating them." Looking somewhat sheepish, Fredegar reddened, glancing anxiously toward his sister. "Of course, I'm only trying to be generous; I ate some at home while she was making them!" 

Frodo knew better than to believe it. Estella was not, admittedly, known for her culinary prowess. While all hobbits began learning to cook almost as soon as they could walk, and most were at least fairly good at it, some - like those with a special gift for it - seemed doomed to failure. These were rare indeed, occurring less than once per family per generation. . .but Estella had proven herself one of the rare unlucky hobbits indeed. Pies and cakes that tasted like sawdust, soups salty beyond bearing, casseroles that could probably walk by themselves. . .all were creations for which Estella was already legendary - well, infamous, rather. But lack of the most rudimentary skill in cookery was regarded as a great misfortune - rather like being born blind or deaf - and as such, only the cruelest young hobbits ever teased about it, though occasionally the accusation might be included between two hobbits particularly furious at each other, when untruths began to enter arguments. While no cook of grand repute himself, Frodo could at least prepare pleasant, if simple, meals, and had particular good fortune with a few select recipes of his parents', including his mother's special apple cobbler. . .and in all the teasing he had known, no one had ever jabbed quite so viciously at him. He suddenly felt extremely sorry for Estella, who sat sobbing on the blanket, her own plate untouched. 

"Why, 'Stell. . .I can't believe I didn't see them! I wouldn't want to miss those - " Rising, Frodo took a clean plate (albeit a salad-plate rather than the full-size dinner-plates, walking the length of the table with rather deliberate steps, though in truth he felt as if he were walking the path to some ominous doom. Smiling broadly, he proceeded to fill his dish completely with a thick layer of mushrooms in cream, serving himself ceremoniously with a pointed glance toward Caramippa and Basil. 

Fredegar gaped. 

Caramippa made a face that would have soured honey, and Basil made choking sounds, mock-grasping his throat. 

But Estella. . .Estella's face was positively radiant. 

Heartened, Frodo returned to his seat and began tasting the various dishes, eating ravenously. Attempting to brace himself with a few forkfuls of the more appetizing dishes first, he finally turned to the creamy mixture, forcing a mouthful. 

It wasn't the worst thing he'd ever tasted. 

A bit sour, perhaps, but not so bad. Still, it sat rather heavy on his stomach. 

"I think you're coming right along, really, 'Stell - this is the best dish of yours I've ever tasted!" THAT much, at least, was true. 

She beamed, applauding eagerly. "Oh, Frodo! You're the sweetest, dearest, most darling person in the whole world! See?" she added, glaring in the direction of the others. 

"Well, * I'm * still not going to eat that," Caramippa muttered darkly, Basil rolling his eyes as he nodded in consensus. 

"Suit yourselves." Shrugging, Frodo finished the plateful before resuming his regular meal. . .though after only a few more bites he began to feel rather too full, and at last was forced to set the plate aside. By then, however, the conversation had turned to matters other than cookery, namely that of Fredegar's newly acquired pet puppy, and Frodo felt content to participate in the afternoon chatter until all of them settled down for a comfortable nap beneath the trees. 

"Frodo. . .are you ready, lad?" 

Frodo blinked, opening his eyes to find Bilbo standing over him, gently touching his shoulder to wake him. "For what?" 

"To go home. It's time we were heading back. . .the afternoon's gone. Time to go home." 

Nodding, Frodo sat up. He felt a bit dizzy, and his stomach suddenly knotted, churning slightly. Rising cautiously, he winced, causing Bilbo to look at him more closely. 

"Are you all right, my boy?" 

Frodo nodded firmly. "Just ate too much, I think. . . ." 

Bilbo chuckled. "I can't blame you for that! Such fine food, wasn't it? Now, say your goodbyes, and we'll get started. . . ." 

It was only a half-hour's walk at leisurely pace, but Frodo found himself wondering whether they would reach Bag End soon enough. His stomach kept cramping, and he felt a bit unwell, though that he attributed to over- eating. At last, though, the round green door came into view. 

If Bilbo noticed his nephew's sigh of relief, he said nothing, merely letting them in before going to the kitchen, beginning to put on the tea- kettle, as was his evening habit. Meanwhile, Frodo made a bee-line for the indoor water-closet, sighing with greater relief as his bowels moved. He felt as if he were coming down with what his aunts called "the trots". . .usually they went around every winter, beginning with the smallest children in Brandy Hall. Perhaps too much to eat, nothing more. . .and Estella's mushrooms * had * been rather sour- tasting. . . . 

When he joined Bilbo in the kitchen, the older hobbit looked up from preparing tea. 

"Everything all right, Frodo?" 

The young hobbit nodded. "I think I might go to bed early tonight. . .I'm tired. And I think I ate a bit more than was good for me." 

"Easy to do, easy to do." Chuckling, Bilbo shook his head. "Go on to bed then. . .I'll look in on you in just a bit. Call for me if you need anything, as usual. No doubt you'll feel better after a good night's sleep." 

Frodo nodded wearily, making his way to his room, where he changed and crawled into bed, drifting at once into a slumber haunted by nightmares of Caramippa's laugher and Estella's sobs and smiles, of Basil's smirking and Fredegar's chattering. 

~To Be Continued~ 


	2. Night Terrors

Title: Old Wives' Tales 

Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd) 

Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Dora, various other hobbits (including Fredegar, Estella, and some original characters) 

Rating: PG-13 (IMPORTANT: Future chapters of this story will be rated PG to PG-13, possibly R. I have struggled with this matter for several days, and after some beta-readings by members of FrodoHealers, have decided to proceed as planned, though with this disclaimer. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading beyond Chapter One of this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature. Chapters past Chapter One will be posted directly to our website at >http://bagend.fateback.com,> with an announcement posted to the FrodoHealers group. I do not intend to do this with the stories of others; my feeling is that there are a variety of conditions and treatments which can be employed in writing ailing Frodo fanfic, and by signing onto such a group, one accepts that there may be conditions used that present very dark or very painful situations. However, for this story of my own, I would like to take all possible precautions to avoid offending anyone's sensitivities, and as such am disclaiming now. Thank you. :) ) 

Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister. 

Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming. 

Story Notes: I have taken some liberty with ages - while I don't usually like to do so, I wanted to harness Estella's lack of culinary prowess, legendary on ElendorMUSH, but needed to make her a bit older to do so, given that she would be merely a toddler at this time in Frodo's life according to book canon! In keeping with this, I have also altered Merry and Fredegar ("Fatty") to fall closer to Frodo's own age. . .which, at the time of this fic, is all of seventeen years, though for a hobbit seventeen is more like nine to eleven years in human terms. In addition, Sam is now old enough to run errands. . .not really too much younger than Frodo. Please pardon the alterations. :) 

For those who remember "Shadows in the Darkness," this is a *different* doctor. . .one gone from Hobbiton by the time Frodo is treated by Dr. Boffin some four years later. Most likely this is the one who moved to Buckland to plague the residents there. . . . ;) 

DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. This is a non-slash fiction: no slash or sexual connotations are implied or intended. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom. 

OLD WIVES' TALES 

Chapter Two: Night Terrors 

Running. . .he'd been running, and was soaked to the skin, hot and sweaty. . .and everything ached. . . . But he couldn't stop; he mustn't. . .behind him. . .close behind him. . . . 

He turned to see a dark shadow. . .darkness sweeping down upon him. . . . 

Frodo awoke with an abrupt start, trembling. He felt as if he'd been. . .no, that was only the dream. . . . 

Wasn't it? 

Dream or not, he was soaked with sweat, even his night-shirt and bedclothing damp. But he felt so cold. . .his teeth chattered as if he were lying in winter snow rather than his bed at Bilbo's. . .and yet. . . . Weakly he put the back of his hand against his forehead, trying to imitate what his mother had always done when he complained of feeling unwell. 

Hot. Burning hot. 

He considered rising to try and change his gown at least, but abruptly a wave of nausea washed over him, and he doubled over, trying desperately not to throw up. At once he reached for the chamber-pot beneath his bed, managing to vomit into that instead. . .but his stomach burned, and before he realised what was happening, he felt horribly damp. . .and not from perspiration. Face aflame from more than fever now, he groaned. No. . .he had to get everything cleaned up before Bilbo found out. . .what would his uncle say about such a slovenly house-guest, someone who couldn't even control himself as a lad his age should? 

But there was nothing for it. . .as he rose to fetch sheets, he felt the burning sensation in his belly again. . .and, clinging to the chamber-pot handle, he dashed out to the indoor water-closet, fastening the door behind him with relief as he collapsed onto the seat, another rush of hot liquid escaping just as he managed to sit. Clutching the chamber-pot, he huddled in half, unable to hold back any longer, vomiting into the basin, his night-shirt clinging stickily to him. 

"Frodo?" 

There was a soft knock - Bilbo's voice, curious and patient. 

"Frodo, lad, are you all right? I heard a bit of noise - " 

He gulped, trying not to swallow - the bitter taste was too strong. "I. . ." Nothing more came from his lips as he tried to find words during the pregnant pause. 

Bilbo's voice softened further. "Can you unlatch the door for me, lad? It's all right. I've seen you before, nothing to fret over. . .let me help you." 

Let him in! Feeling as if he would faint, Frodo wryly half-wondered whether the illness or the idea of Bilbo seeing him in this state was the the worse offender. Slowly he set the pot aside and reached over, unlatching the door. Only an instant later, the door opened gently, Bilbo's anxious features peering in. At once he stepped inside. 

"Oh, Frodo - poor lad, you should have woken me! There now. . . ." He laid his hand gently against Frodo's brow, shaking his head. "Do you think you could stand to be put back to bed, or do you need a bit more time here?" 

"I. . .I don't kn-know. . . ." Trembling, Frodo let his uncle put gentle arms around him, rubbing his back through the sweat-drenched night-shirt. 

"There now. . .easy, lad. . .we'll just get you back into bed and make you comfortable. . .and as soon as the Gamgees come up in the morning, I'll send for the doctor. Tell Uncle what hurts. . . ." 

"M-My stomach. . .and my head. . .and I ache all over. . . ." 

Bilbo nodded, still gently rubbing the young one's back. "Flu's a nasty uncomfortable disturbance, isn't it, my boy? We'll take care of that. . .easy now. . . ." Carefully he took Frodo in his arms, lifting the young hobbit carefully and carrying him into the nearby bath-room, fetching a fluffy towel from one of the shelves and spreading it on the rug, then topping it with another before laying his bundle down, positioning Frodo on his side. "Just stay like that, Frodo. . .there's a good lad. I'll only be a moment." 

Frodo obeyed, lying quietly, still shivering, as he listened to the sound of water in a basin, the rustle of cloth. . . . At last Bilbo knelt beside him once more, dampening a cloth in some water and wiping his face and neck. It felt wonderful, and Frodo yielded eagerly. Continuing, the elder hobbit wrung out another cloth, folding this one and laying it against the overheated forehead, preparing another and pressing it to the back of Frodo's neck before gently turning him a little, taking yet another cloth and beginning to bathe Frodo's backside. 

"Bilbo, I. . .I'm so sorry. . .this h-hasn't happened to me since I was a b-baby. . .honestly. . . ." 

"Nonsense, lad. . .calm down!" Chuckling a little, Bilbo ruffled his curls. "I know you can't help it; once I had a dreadful bout with something and ended up soiling my aunt's best linens. Now just relax. . .we'll get you into bed with something warm to help your belly and something soft to lie on." 

Nodding, Frodo closed his eyes. . .but suddenly his stomach knotted again. "Bilbo - " Even before his uncle had time to turn around from the cupboard, the young hobbit felt his bowels empty uncontrollably, soiling the towels upon which he lay. Thoroughly embarrassed, he looked up at Bilbo apologetically. 

"I'm sorry. . .I didn't realise I had to go again. . . ." 

"It's all right, Frodo. . .it's fine!" Calmly Bilbo returned, lifting Frodo's legs and sliding a clean towel beneath him, wiping him off before fetching a fresh wash-cloth and cleaning him carefully. "Poor lad, you can't help being ill. . .is there anything you can tell me that might help us figure out what's wrong? Just a nasty flu, or. . .something you ate today at the picnic, perhaps?" 

"Maybe I just ate too much. . . ." 

"I don't think that's all. . .you don't run fevers from that, my lad. Was there anything you ate that didn't seem to settle well?" 

Frodo tried to think. . .it was difficult, with his head feeling like cotton-wool. 

The mushrooms. 

That cream. 

He hadn't cared for the smell, but had assumed it was the result of some odd combination of ingredients such as Estella was prone to creating. 

"I. . .felt s-sorry for 'Stella. . .so I. . .ate. . .some of h-her. . .mushrooms. . .in c-cream. . . ." 

Bilbo groaned. "Oh, dear. . .no doubt that's what's made you ill, I'm sure. . . . Let's just get you back to bed, and we'll fetch the doctor 'round quick as we can if you don't find it's out of your system come morning. Sometimes these things ease off overnight. We'll just get you tucked in and give you some ginger tea to settle that tummy right down, all right?" 

Frodo nodded weakly as Bilbo finished cleaning him and sat him up, pulling the sweat-soaked night-shirt off and taking a fresh cloth before lifting him, carrying him back to the bedroom and easing him into the window-seat, wiping him down all over and laying the cloth at last on his forehead. This done, he stepped aside, deftly changing the bed. . .then returned Frodo to it, laying him down gingerly and slipping a fresh night-shirt over the lad's head. Yet within only minutes Frodo felt his stomach rise in his throat - there was not even time to warn Bilbo before he began vomiting again, though this time he managed to double over, containing it in his night-shirt. Without complaint Bilbo helped him get the soiled gown off, wiping him down with another cool cloth. . .but they had not even finished that before Frodo felt the embarrassment of another attack. . .and this time, both bedclothes and small hobbit were covered with vomit and stool. Still, Bilbo responded calmly. . .though by now Frodo could see fear in his eyes. His uncle was worried. Nonetheless, the elder hobbit forced a smile as he changed his charge's bed, laying him on clean towels in the window-seat to bathe him, and finally carried the little patient back to bed, bundling him into a fresh night-gown and tucking him in, disappearing just long enough to produce a cup of something warm. 

"All right, my boy. . .just a little ginger tea. . .how does that sound? Not strong at all. . .just a weak infusion. Could you try and take a sip or two for your Uncle Bilbo?" 

Frodo nodded weakly, allowing Bilbo to raise his head and administer a tiny sip of the warm drink. . .then another. 

They waited. 

Not five minutes passed before it came back up. . .Frodo managed to sit up only with Bilbo's help, vomiting into the lap of his gown once more. 

"Oh, my poor boy. . .sssshhh. . . ." Patiently Bilbo changed the child's night-shirt once more, then tucked him back in, propping him on his side with pillows and stroking the heavy curls. "I'll send Hamfast for the doctor; he'll be here in just a few hours. . .and I'll be right here with you, my lad. . .right here." 

Frodo nodded through tears. He couldn't recall the last time he'd felt so miserably ill. . .measles had been a bit like it, and he'd had pneumonia more than once, but the sheer exhaustion of this made him feel limp and what he would have called "all-overish". . .shaky and weak, hot and cold at the same time. His tummy hurt, and no amount of getting rid of the poisons seemed to help very much. 

"Try to sleep, Frodo. . .I'll be right here. . . ." 

He closed his eyes obediently, feeling Bilbo lay a cool cloth upon his forehead as he drifted into a fevered slumber, full of terrors he could neither name nor see. . .only sense. . .somewhere in the darkness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Abruptly Frodo sat up with a start. Someone. . .no, some*thing* had been. . .been after him. . . . 

But there was no time to think about it: before he knew it, he was vomiting again. . .and a too-familiar dampness warmed his bed, causing him to shift uncomfortably. 

"Come along, my lad. . .there now. . . ." 

Bilbo lifted him from the soiled bed as it passed. . .and resumed work on cleaning both child and bedcovers. Watching him from the window, Frodo reddened guiltily. . .and half wished he would just die. Then it would at least be over. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

Slowly Frodo opened his eyes. 

He was too tired to get up. Hopefully Bilbo wouldn't wake him for breakfast. . .ugh, breakfast. . . . But sunlight was filtering through the curtains. . .mid-morning, perhaps. . .or early afternoon? 

The thought jarred Frodo back to reality: Bilbo was at his bedside, wringing out a fresh cloth for his forehead. He felt dizzy and faint, even though he was lying down. What. . .oh, yes. With a shudder he remembered the long night. . .he'd been up and down, extremely sick with what one of his aunts liked to call "the B-Es," short for "both ends." At the moment, it did not strike Frodo as particularly amusing. 

"Good morning, my lad." 

Bilbo's voice was soft and reassuring, and Frodo turned carefully to look up at his uncle, who bent over to stroke his face with a damp cloth. With sudden embarrassment, he realised he was naked beneath the covers. 

"Uncle. . .where's my. . . ." He felt his voice trailing off, finding himself struggling to find the word despite having had it in mind half a moment earlier. 

"Your night-shirt? We're laundering them, dear boy. . .you've just one clean one left, and I thought we'd save that just in case. . .not to mention that this is easier. Just wrap you up in a blanket and sit you up until it's over. . . . Our laundress was kind enough to go ahead and tend to those things right now; I've offered her some rather nice pay for a quick load. . . ." 

He nodded. . .it did make more sense, and he couldn't bear the thought of being moved more than necessary. 

"Hamfast's sent his lad Sam for the doctor, then for a few errands. . .he's here in case we need a bit more help. Right now he's getting some things aired, extra blankets and such." 

"Sir?" 

Frodo looked up. Hamfast's youngest son stood in the doorway. 

"Mr. Bilbo, sir, I. . .I'm sorry to bother you, but. . .I. . .sir, the doctor's out on a 'mergency call. I went there to give 'im the message, but he said he couldn't come. . .he said to give Mr. Frodo plenty to drink and keep 'im in bed 'till his stomach settles and his fever breaks, said if he can't keep things down, try a tablespoon of water or apple juice till he can." 

Bilbo sighed. "Thank you, Sam. . .you may put the things right there, on the chair, and go back to your father. I do wish he'd have come, though. . . . Ah, well, can't be helped, can it?" Returning his attention to his small nephew, he forced a smile. "All right, Frodo, my boy. . .let's try a little spoonful of cool water. . .shall we? No more than that. . .just a taste." 

Frodo nodded weakly: he still felt sick, but he was terribly thirsty. . .and the thought of cool water seemed appealing. As Bilbo poured a cupful and dipped a spoon in, bringing the liquid to his lips, he tasted eagerly. . .welcome relief against his parched lips and mouth. . . . 

Yet almost at once he regretted it: nausea overwhelmed him, and he began vomiting. Fortunately, Bilbo had a basin ready, and neither bedclothing nor patient (nor caregiver) became soiled. . .but Frodo lay back down, shuddering. . .and worrying. He hadn't had anything to drink since yesterday. . .and he was so thirsty. . .but he dared not try again. . . . 

"It's all right, dear boy. We'll try again in a little while. . .just try to rest. . . ." 

Somehow Frodo had the feeling it would not be all right. . .and yet he wanted to believe. Surely Uncle Bilbo was right. It had to be. It just had to be all right. . . 

~To Be Continued~ 


	3. Family Relations

Title: Old Wives' Tales  
  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
  
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Dora, various other hobbits (including Fredegar, Estella, and some original characters)  
  
Rating: PG to PG-13. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading beyond Chapter One of this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature.  
  
Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister. Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
  
Story Notes: I have taken some liberty with ages - while I don't usually like to do so, I wanted to harness Estella's lack of culinary prowess, legendary on ElendorMUSH, but needed to make her a bit older to do so, given that she would be merely a toddler at this time in Frodo's life according to book canon! In keeping with this, I have also altered Merry and Fredegar ("Fatty") to fall closer to Frodo's own age. . .which, at the time of this fic, is all of seventeen years, though for a hobbit seventeen is more like nine to eleven years in human terms. In addition, Sam is now old enough to run errands. . .not really too much younger than Frodo. Please pardon the alterations. :) For those who remember "Shadows in the Darkness," this is a *different* doctor. . .one gone from Hobbiton by the time Frodo is treated by Dr. Boffin some four years later. Most likely this is the one who moved to Buckland to plague the residents there. . . . ;)  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. This is a non-slash fiction: no slash or sexual connotations are implied or intended. I am not a medical professional: the information herein pertains to fictional hobbit diagnosis and treatment. Please consult a professional health care provider for your medical needs. (I don't think that should need saying, but this is called covering my bases. ;) )  
  
OLD WIVES' TALES  
  
Chapter Three: Family Relations  
  
But it was not all right.  
  
Not at all.  
  
Both Bilbo and Frodo lost count of the number of times that the youngster vomited or suffered another bout of diarrhea. Every time Bilbo tried to administer a spoonful of water or apple juice, every time Frodo tried to sleep, every time he tried to sit up. . . .  
  
"Frodo. . .try just a little, my lad."  
  
"No. . .can't. . . ." Frodo stubbornly refused the offered spoonful of cool water. Secretly he longed for it: he was so thirsty. . .and yet the overwhelming sense of nausea reminded him that it would most likely come right back up.  
  
"All right. . . ." Bilbo was too exhausted himself to argue the point: it was his second night up caring for the sick child, and he so wanted to get some liquid into his nephew's tiny mouth that he was trying desperately to keep the boy in a cooperative mood. He studied Frodo anxiously, noting the tousled mop of sweaty curls and the fretful blue eyes. . .the little one was weakening, too sick from the loss of fluids to combat the rising fever.  
  
"Uncle Bilbo - "  
  
But the reverie was broken by Frodo's soft cry. . .his small charge was sick again, doubled over, clutching his belly in pain, and there was no time to think on it further.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~  
  
Frodo awoke to find himself alone. He could hear voices in the hall. . .Bilbo, of course. . .and. . .a lady's voice. . .Aunt Dora??? For an instant, he wondered if Bilbo had forgotten to cancel their luncheon for today. . . .  
  
". . .been very ill all night. . . . . .to send for the doctor. . . ."  
  
"What have you given him. . .anything? When I received your note, I packed up my herb chest and came anyhow. . .you should have sent for me."  
  
"Nothing yet; we tried a bit of ginger tea earlier, and it came right back up."  
  
A cluck of the tongue. "Ginger's good for nausea, yes, but blackberry root tea's the best thing for a child with stomach trouble. Barring that, a good spoonful of blackberry cordial or even blackberry wine."  
  
"Well, he can't keep anything down, though - that's the trouble. The poor lad's not been able to hold anything on his stomach since the picnic, though we've tried the simplest things - water, weak ginger tea - "  
  
"There's more than one way to get medicine into an ailing child, Bilbo, and I'm beginning to doubt how much you know about nursing sick children. . . ."  
  
The door opened completely, admitting the greying ladyhobbit Frodo had met only a few times: pleasant, but formal and prim, though she did write a great many letters. . .to Bilbo, to people seeking advice, even sometimes to Frodo himself, often sending gifts to her young nephew - mostly stationery, but sometimes a book or some sweets. As usual, every strand of hair was in place, each fold of her expensive dress perfectly arranged. . .but she immediately sought the bed with concerned brown eyes so reminiscent of his father's, and Frodo felt himself redden with embarrassment.  
  
"How's my little nephew? Bilbo tells me you've not been feeling very well."  
  
Looking up at her, Frodo shook his head shyly, pulling the covers over himself as tightly as he could manage. "No, ma'am. . .I'm feeling rather ill today."  
  
She pulled up a chair, taking a seat by his bed as she glanced back toward Bilbo, who carried a large box: Dora's herb chest. "Never mind me, Bilbo. . .just see to what you need for the child. Now, then - " Turning back to Frodo, she put out a perfectly manicured hand, soft and smooth, laying it upon his forehead. At once she clucked her tongue softly. "Poor pet! If Bilbo would permit. . .would you let your auntie try to help you feel better?"  
  
Bilbo paused in gathering some more blankets from the trunk at the foot of Frodo's bed, but nodded approvingly. "Listen to what she suggests, Frodo; she's a wise lady. Perhaps she'll have some ideas."  
  
Frodo nodded. . .but suddenly felt sick again, and whimpered with embarrassment, looking up at Bilbo pleadingly. Much to his relief, his uncle nodded, stepping to the bedside and discreetly reaching for the chamber-pot in the cupboard close by. "Dora, if you could bring some extra towels and warm a bit of water, that would be more help than anything else at present. . .would you mind?"  
  
"Of course not. . .very well, then." She slipped out. . .just as Frodo felt he could hold it in no longer. At once he was violently sick, vomiting all over the sheets, though Bilbo had at least succeeded in easing him onto the chamber-pot, supporting him until the attack passed.  
  
"My poor boy. . .there now. . . ." Carefully Bilbo selected a towel and spread it on the quilt in the window-seat, then lifted Frodo gingerly, carrying him over and putting him down gently. The young hobbit heard the door open and close. . .and promptly flushed scarlet. Aunt Dora, seeing him NAKED, of all things! If he were not already longing to die, he would have gained the urge from that thought alone. . . . Closing his eyes tightly, he tried not to think about it. However, as Bilbo brought a cloth to his backside, beginning to clean him, the small patient winced, pulling away.  
  
"Hurts. . . ."  
  
"Now, now, my boy. . . ."  
  
"Let me have a go, Bilbo. . .you may be the traveller, but you're clearly not the most experienced with children." Stern admonition complete, Dora bent over her nephew: Frodo could smell the scent of lavender that always lingered around her. Trying to hide his face in the cushions, he squirmed a bit as she separated his buttocks gently, one hand on each. "Oh, dear, dear, dear - there's the problem! Take a look. . .red as a beet! Bilbo, how *have* you been cleaning up the poor child?"  
  
Bilbo had never sounded, at least to Frodo, quite so taken aback. "Simple towels and soap and water, Dora, nothing complicated - "  
  
"Better to just rinse him off and set him in the tub for a few minutes. I know he's probably feeling terrible, poor babe, but that wiping won't do him any good. Water, then pat him good and dry and put on a good layer of salve. . . ." Carefully she slipped her arms beneath Frodo, lifting him so that he faced her. "Put your arms around Auntie, dear. Legs too, if you like. There now."  
  
Frodo complied, feeling like a very young child. . .and still embarrassed, though admittedly it was a relief not to have towels scratching over his raw skin. He allowed her to carry him to the bath-room and ease him over the back of the tub, seating herself on a small wooden stool, still holding him tightly. It was a startling experience: he could never have pictured prim Aunt Dora picking up a sick child at all, much less one as ill as he was. Yet she seemed completely unconcerned about anything besides him, directing Bilbo firmly as she held her nephew securely.  
  
"Now. . .just pour a bit of water over his bottom there, several times. Then we can get some fresh bathwater in there and let him sit in the tub for just a bit. . .that'll help his temperature too, poor little thing." She rubbed Frodo's curls reassuringly. "Poor dear. . .I know you're burning up. . . . We'll put you back to bed soon."  
  
Frodo managed a frail nod. . .but then, much to his horror, he felt the urge return. . .and promptly struggled to pull away, even if it meant a hard fall into the bath-tub. But Dora held him fast. . .yet there was no time for her even to ask what might be the matter before he began retching again. . .and before he could protest, she pulled him up into her lap. . . .  
  
Of all the moments Frodo would later reflect upon as embarrassing, this would remain the worst, at least for many years to come.  
  
As Dora secured him in her lap, reaching for the washbasin, Frodo felt his stomach twist sharply in complaint. . .and a rush of heat flooded his aching backside. At once he felt wet and soiled again. . .but worse than that was his location. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. . . .  
  
That was more than enough. . .and yet Frodo's stomach proved less than empty as he vomited, covering the front of Dora's dress with a mixture of bitter yellow fluid and what little was left in his stomach.  
  
"Oh, poor pet. . .here now. . . ."  
  
To Frodo's shock, Dora did not so much as bat an eyelash. Gently she gathered him into her arms, reaching for a towel and tucking it into the collar of her dress, rising cautiously. "Let's get the little one lying down again, shall we? We can use basins to rinse him. . .and then if you don't mind, I'd like to send someone up to have my maid send a change of clothing, if possible."  
  
"Dora, I'm terribly sorry. . .we'll be sending for the doctor again, and we'll manage until he comes," Bilbo apologised, coming to her side. Yet rather than giving Frodo to his uncle, the matron shook her head.  
  
"Clearly *he* doesn't realise how ill the child is. . . . I may be no mother and no doctor, but I know my herbs, and I've cared for enough sick people in my time. I wouldn't leave Drogo's little one's welfare in the hands of that fellow. What emergency was it this time? Another fit of the vapors from a wealthy young lass? It's only proper for a child's family to look after him." Returning Frodo to his room, his aunt eased him onto the towels in the window-seat, rubbing his back gently. . .then eased him half over the edge. "Bilbo, if you can hold his legs, I can manage the basins. . . ."  
  
Frodo closed his eyes, trying to imagine being somewhere else.  
  
Killing Estella, perhaps.  
  
He felt warm water poured over his backside, hearing it catch in the basin beneath him. This was repeated several times before they eased him back onto the window-seat of towels completely. Lightly Dora patted him dry, then spread his buttocks again.  
  
"It's clear enough you've not had a child to look after. I've some salve in my valise; I was going to take it on over to Lilias for her little one, but I think Frodo needs it far more at present. We'll just put a bit of this on, a bit of powder if you have any of that, and he'll feel much better. This should help keep his skin from getting too irritated. Plenty of calendula in it, good for little hurts and sore spots." Gently she patted his backside, as one might comfort an infant. "Poppet, would you let Auntie put a bit of that cream on you, to make you feel better?"  
  
Embarrassed as he was, Frodo still nodded: it hurt terribly, and the prospect of anything that might soothe the burning pain was a welcome thought. Trying to hide the increased rush of pink to his face, he curled up a little more, allowing Dora to scoop a fair bit of salve from a jar produced from her valise, patting the mixture on lightly. It *did* feel better. . . . He felt Dora step away and listened as she washed her hands in the nearby basin, returning to turn him gently onto his back. Reaching to the nearby chest, she opened it, taking out a small vial and opening it, applying a few drops of its contents to her hand. . .then doing the same with another, handling them deftly. Bilbo stood by the bed, changing the sheets and arranging fresh blankets and fluffing pillows. At last Dora brought her hand to her nephew's tiny stomach, beginning to massage gingerly in small circles.  
  
"How does that feel, Frodo?"  
  
He nodded weakly. "Thank you. . .that feels good. . . ." Indeed it did: the oils smelled wonderful, pepperminty and cool and comfortable, and the light rubbing eased the cramps knotting his tummy. Dora smiled, reaching with her other hand to stroke back his damp curls from his forehead.  
  
"Sweetheart. . .if you can't keep anything on your stomach, we need to try and get that taken care of so you can have some fluids. . .and you need medicine. Auntie could give you something to bring down the fever and ease your stomach. . .all right?"  
  
"All right. . .I don't think I could. . .dr-drink anything just. . .just n- now, Auntie. . . ."  
  
"He has a point." Bilbo finished arranging the bed, bringing a light blanket over and standing beside his nephew. "When he's been so sick after everything we've tried to give him. . . ."  
  
"The child has to have fluids, Bilbo. Especially with a fever as high as this. 'Twould be bad enough otherwise, but with such a high temperature and an upset stomach, there's no choice. The apothecary makes herbal boluses; three or four doses of those, with that salve, should soothe him enough that he could take a good enema."  
  
Frodo stiffened. He'd had his share of experiences with *those* things when younger: Primula had often had to administer medicine by bolus when he was a sick toddler and young child, and every child in Buckland or the Shire had had at least one or two enemas by the time they reached their tweens; it was a favoured remedy for overindulgence as well as for a variety of illnesses.  
  
"Dora. . .is that really necessary?" Bilbo stroked his nephew's hair gently, frowning as he studied Drogo's sister. "As I recall, won't that make the problem rather *worse*?"  
  
"Quite the contrary. It all depends on what one uses. . .soothing herbs like catnip and slippery elm do wonders to ease loose bowels. And it'll help bring down the fever as well as get some fluids into him. Once his temperature's improving and his stomach starts to settle, he'll start being able to take some things by mouth. . .can start him on spoonfuls of blackberry juice alternated with broth and good strong herb tea." She tucked the covers back over Frodo, rubbing his back reassuringly. "If we could send 'round to the apothecary's for meadowsweet, catnip, and slippery elm boluses, we can alternate those to help calm down his tummy. . .the meadowsweet will help ease any aching along with that fever. And since I've brought my herb chest, I can prepare the enemas myself, if you'd like."  
  
Bilbo frowned a bit more. "I hadn't said you could stay, Dora. Frodo and I will be fine by ourselves."  
  
Dora snorted, laughing as she followed Bilbo in carrying their charge back to his bed. "You *look* fine by yourselves! Honestly, Bilbo Baggins, don't be so stubborn! He's my poor brother's child, too, and I've a right to take *some* interest in his care. He needs a good sponge-bath, not to mention those treatments, and nursing a sick child's a job best done by a ladyhobbit, like it or not."  
  
Like it or not, Frodo had to admit she had a point. Bilbo was kind and gentle, but it wasn't the same as the touch of his mother's hands. . .and, nervous as he was about it, he liked Dora: she reminded him a great deal of his father, though with the same warmth he remembered in his mother. He struggled to remember why it was she had never married: his parents used to talk about it, usually with sad expressions. . .they had liked her very much, and she had been kind to him. . . .  
  
And she hadn't so much as made a face when he was sick all over her earlier, even in her nice dress.  
  
There was a soft knock. . .it seems Bilbo had sent someone for Dora's maid, and the matron tucked Frodo in gently before stepping out.  
  
"Frodo, my lad?" Bilbo knelt beside him, clasping his hand gently. "What would you prefer? I won't put you through that unless you wish. . .but she's right; you need more care than I know how to give until I learn a bit more, and if she can make you feel better. . . ."  
  
Weakly Frodo nodded. "I d-don't mind. . . ." He didn't like the idea of someone giving medicine back *there* at all, not in the slightest, but he didn't want her to go away. . .didn't want that nice scent and soft touch to go away. . .and he wanted to feel better. . . .  
  
"Then she can stay. . .I'm sorry I don't know more about what to do for you, my boy. But trust Dora: she does know a great deal, and she loved your father very much. And she loves you."  
  
"I know." Frodo huddled beneath the covers, still feeling miserable. He ached all over, and felt at once hot and cold. . .and he missed Dora's reassurance.  
  
"There now. . .much better!"  
  
Turning cautiously onto his back to look up at his aunt (now wearing one of her simpler frocks) once more, he sighed with relief as she not only smiled, but took him carefully into her arms, as if he were a porcelain doll.  
  
"There now, poppet. . .it's all right. . . ."  
  
He curled against her, letting her cradle him tenderly. Bilbo's hand ruffled his curls lightly.  
  
"I'll just step out and have Hamfast or his lad run down to the apothecary's now. . .and I'll put a fresh kettle on."  
  
Dora nodded. "We'll be fine, Bilbo. . .don't worry a bit. I'll go ahead and get him bathed."  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


	4. A Dose of Auntie's Medicine

Title: Old Wives' Tales  
  
Author: Frodo Baggins of Bag End (FrodoAtBagEnd)  
  
Characters: Frodo, Bilbo, Dora, various other hobbits (including Fredegar, Estella, and some original characters)  
  
Rating: PG-13 (IMPORTANT: Future chapters of this story will be rated PG to PG-13, possibly R. I have struggled with this matter for several days, and after some beta-readings by members of FrodoHealers, have decided to proceed as planned, though with this disclaimer. While this story falls within the guidelines of the FrodoHealers group in both letter and spirit, free from profanity or sexual content, it does contain material which may be distasteful to some readers. If you prefer to avoid graphic medical content or non-sexual bare hobbit "rear-views," then you may wish to avoid reading beyond Chapter One of this story. Should you choose to continue, you do so at your own risk. I have chosen to provide a realistic portrayal of symptoms and treatment given the conditions in Middle-earth, and as such the content is quite graphic in nature.)  
  
Summary: Following a summer picnic during a stay at Bag End, young Frodo becomes seriously ill and is cared for by Bilbo and his aunt Dora, Drogo's elder sister.  
  
Feedback: Welcomed. Constructive only, please. . .no flaming.  
  
Story Notes: I have taken some liberty with ages - while I don't usually like to do so, I wanted to harness Estella's lack of culinary prowess, legendary on ElendorMUSH, but needed to make her a bit older to do so, given that she would be merely a toddler at this time in Frodo's life according to book canon! In keeping with this, I have also altered Merry and Fredegar ("Fatty") to fall closer to Frodo's own age. . .which, at the time of this fic, is all of seventeen years, though for a hobbit seventeen is more like nine to eleven years in human terms. In addition, Sam is now old enough to run errands. . .not really too much younger than Frodo. Please pardon the alterations. :)  
  
For those who remember "Shadows in the Darkness," this is a *different* doctor. . .one gone from Hobbiton by the time Frodo is treated by Dr. Boffin some four years later. Most likely this is the one who moved to Buckland to plague the residents there. . . . ;)  
  
DISCLAIMER: The characters, places, and story of The Lord of the Rings are the property of J.R.R. Tolkien and consequently of the Tolkien Estate, with select rights by Tolkien Enterprises. This piece appears purely as fanfiction and is not intended to claim ownership of Tolkien's work in any way. Please e-mail me if you have concerns. This is a non-slash fiction: no slash or sexual connotations are implied or intended. Furthermore, please do NOT consider any treatments or remedies within this story safe or effective for use: these are included as fictitious hobbit care, not real human medical practice, and while some can indeed be traced to actual therapeutic practices, could be dangerous. Please consult your health care professional before treating yourself or others for any condition or symptom.  
  
OLD WIVES' TALES  
  
Chapter Four: A Dose of Auntie's Medicine  
  
Frodo closed his eyes, resting quietly as Dora cradled him. He felt better resting against her shoulder. . .she smelled of lavender, as his mother had. As he felt himself being lowered carefully back to his bed, though, he looked up at her anxiously, blushing afresh. Aunt Dora had been kind since he came to Hobbiton, but she was always so neat and proper that the realisation that she was going to give him a bath - well, the very thought embarrassed him beyond words. Still, Bilbo had been up all night with him for two nights now. . .it wasn't fair to be fussy. And with what she'd just done. . .well, a bath was nothing compared to that, was it?  
  
"It's all right, poppet. I know it can't be pleasant, having your old auntie fussing like this, but there's no shame in being sick; you can't help that. . .and you need a good bath to bring that fever down. . . ."  
  
Opening his eyes, Frodo watched, giving only a tiny nod in reply as Dora added the contents of another vial from her herb-chest to the basin of cool water near his bed. He recognised the piercing smell at once: vinegar. Still, the intensely pungent scent weakened as she stirred the mixture with her hand, and he lay quietly as she bent over him, folding the covers gently up to cover his legs and part of his belly before wringing out a cloth. With a light touch, she began sponging his face, using soft little strokes, moving down to bathe his neck, then shoulders and chest before using long, light strokes to bathe his arms, lifting each in turn. It was easy to relax and let her work; he felt too sick to protest. . .and the bath really did make him feel cooler and more comfortable, even more so than water alone usually did. . . .  
  
"There's a good child. You'll soon be better, and then we'll just have to fatten you up. Don't those people feed you up there in the wild?"  
  
"They do. . .I just. . . ." He struggled for words, caught between a desire to defend his mother's relatives and an inability to explain. "I don't always want very much to eat. . . ."  
  
"Don't want much to eat! What sort of hobbit are you, Frodo Baggins? Rubbish, that's what that talk is. . .poppycock and nonsense! You just need to start eating a bit more, and that'll improve your appetite. . .it's easier once you get started that way. If it doesn't upset your poor tummy too much, once you start to feel better, you can just tell Auntie what sorts of things you like. . .perhaps we can figure out the right dishes to feed you when you're here, and send you back with some instructions for when you aren't. . . . Bilbo will want to get you eating like a regular hobbit, I know. . . ."  
  
He nodded weakly. "Aunt Dora?"  
  
She stroked his stomach gently, then slipped an arm behind him and sat him up slowly, running the cool cloth lightly over his back. "Yes, dear?"  
  
"Tell me about Papa. . .please?"  
  
Her expression softened. "Your papa loved you very much. . .as he loved your mamma. They were a lovely couple. . .strange as can be, but very lovely to look at, and very lovely people to know. Of course, your papa was one of the wealthier Bagginses - not nearly so wealthy as Bungo, Bilbo's father, but every bit as proper and as particular in his tastes, and oh! how he LOVED to eat. My goodness, but I've never seen a hobbit with such a wonderful appetite in all my life. When he was just about your age, he'd slip into the kitchen when I was baking. . .'Dora, *can't* I lick the bowl, please?' 'Dora, hadn't I better taste the first of the batch? Just to be sure it's properly done, you know - ' Oh, my, but I had a time keeping him out of my hair. Often as not, I'd let him lick the bowls just so I'd have time to sneak some of the results off to hide for my gentleman callers!"  
  
Frodo smiled. The image of his father as a youngster begging for treats was rather more amusing than many of the few family stories he'd heard. . .thinking about his father as a lad seemed to ease the pain in his tummy, and he settled comfortably against Dora as she eased him to rest against her, taking something from her pocket with her free hand. Gingerly she eased him back onto the bed, turning him onto his side.  
  
"Now pull those legs up, lad. . .there's a good boy!"  
  
Blushing, Frodo complied, grateful that his face was turned away. Her hand separating his buttocks, she paused, then slid the bolus in, as his mother had done when he was quite small and very sick, patting his bottom gently as she eased him onto his back once more.  
  
"I still remember how Drogo used to do whatever he could to chase every guest off, just to annoy me." She chuckled, shaking her head. "Dear me, but he was positively incorrigible! Once he replaced my flour with powdered plaster for ceilings, so my beautiful little cakes for a tea-party were positively inedible. . .and another time he dug a decent-sized hole and poured water beneath the mat, so that there was a dreadful mud-puddle there. . .and of course when Basil Boffin arrived and stepped on it, it squished and splattered mud all over him, up his legs and all over. . . . 'Twas why I was hardly surprised to learn you've given them a fair share of fits up at Brandy Hall."  
  
Still laughing softly, she rose, washing her hands with soap and fresh water at the wash-basin and turning to get something else out of her herb- chest. From his nest of pillows, he could not see what she was doing. . .but within minutes, the pungent scent of mustard filled the room. Frodo wrinkled his nose. . .not that he minded, though: the smell of mustard was better than the sour smell of being sick. A moment later, she returned, bending over him and folding back the covers.  
  
"This should help a bit, poppet. . .just a mustard-plaster for your tummy, to help you not hurt so badly. We'll see if that doesn't help. . .Auntie doesn't want to do the rest with you hurting so much." She smiles sadly, smoothing the preparation over his belly. "Not that you'd remember it, but I've used this on you before. . .you were only a baby then, little mop of hair and eyes wailing in your mother's arms."  
  
Frodo blinked, looking up at her curiously. He still felt weak and nauseated, dizzy and achy and absolutely miserable. . .but he hadn't heard this story, and it didn't sound as if it involved having to hear about food. . . . "When?"  
  
"Oh, about. . .goodness, back when you'd have been just about fifteen months old." Dora continued settling the plaster, at last wrapping him back up in soft blankets freshly warmed by the fire. "Your parents spent Yule in Hobbiton that year. It was grand having them home. . .but one night we all woke up to the sound of crying and coughing, and Primula sobbing. . .she'd heard you breathing strangely, and got up to check, and there you were, coughing and just wailing like a little banshee with every bit of breath you could draw, warm to the touch, just miserable. . . . Of course, it scared her half to death. . .and Drogo was wringing his hands, trying to figure out what to do. . .the doctor was away on holiday himself, and there wasn't anyone else to send for. So there was Primula, rocking you and crying herself, and Drogo watching her, and. . .well, I'd been the one who looked after our parents and all, and some of our cousins and their children, so I thought I'd at least offer to try and help. . . .  
  
"Your mother looked at me as if I might have been suggesting we put you in a dragon's-egg, for all the reaction. . .but your father just nodded, and finally got her to watch for a bit. We got out a basin, filled it full of good hot water, and added a bit of mustard. . .let that cool just a touch while we did the same thing with another, using boiling water this time. It took a fair bit of convincing, but you looked so pitiful with your little lips half-blue, and your mother was so worried. . .finally she got you undressed and let me put you in the cooler basin. We just sat you down in the bath - oh, you kept crying, poor little lamb, and I don't think I'd ever felt sorrier for your mother than I did just then - and then we had her hold you still while I pushed the other closer, and held a towel over both, making a bit of a little tent for you so you could breath in plenty of steam. . . . After a good bit of that, we wrapped you up nice and cosy in blankets, little curly head and all, and let your mamma take you back to the rocking-chair and just rock you to sleep. . . ."  
  
She sighed, wringing out a fresh compress and draping it over Frodo's forehead.  
  
"Of course, the next morning, you were much better. . .still a touch warm, a touch congested, but much happier. . .poor little pumpkin, you'd had a bad night of it, but there you were, looking up at us with those big blue eyes and taking little sips of milk for your mamma. . .such a sweet baby you were. . . ."  
  
Settling herself in a chair by the bed, the matron stroked Frodo's damp hair, smiling softly. Her eyes were just like his father's. . . .  
  
"Now, poppet. . .how are you feeling?"  
  
He managed a weak nod. "A little better. . . ."  
  
"Good. . .good. Just you try to rest now, sleep a little. . .I'll be here when you wake up."  
  
Frodo nodded. . .whatever medicines she had given him must be working, he thought, for he fell at once into a tired slumber, dreaming that someone held him in their arms, rocking him gently back and forth. . .back and forth.  
  
~To Be Continued~ 


End file.
